


The Ritual

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bloodplay, Bottom Castiel, Feet kink, M/M, Nothing about this is safe or sane, Other character death, Serial Killer Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was his ritual for the last seven years. Whatever hurt Castiel, it became a part of him. Written for the Free Space on my spn kink bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about someone just taking care of Castiel after how much he went through in season 11, and somehow THIS happened. 
> 
> Thank you very much to [castielsstar](castielsstar.tumblr.com) for the beta! <3

It was a Friday night. The sky was heavy with the threat of rain, the clouds shrouding any moon or starlight that attempted to soften the darkness. Chill gusts of wind chased brittle autumn leaves down an old, dirt road. There were no street lamps to guide the way, no homes to offer even a dim porchlight. Nothing but the tall silhouettes of fir trees barely visible in the dark, and a single log house at the very end of the road. 

A light shone from the kitchen window beside the front door, the only guide for anyone wishing to enter. Two more lights cast a soft glow from the living room—a fire, crackling and snapping within an open, stone fireplace, and a lamp set on a small endtable. Beside the lamp was a brown mug of green tea with honey, steam curling gently around Castiel’s fingers as he ran them along the ceramic rim. 

He was curled in his favorite red chair with a book open in his lap, though he only turned a page once every ten minutes or so. His gaze kept straying to the kitchen doorway, or over to the fire. A soft sigh would escape him as he stared into the flame, wondering how much longer, what he was doing. If he was bringing anything home. 

The front door slammed open.

Castiel’s heart leaped. He lifted his head, closing the book one-handed and setting it down behind the lamp. 

A series of muffled grunts and pleas, followed by the solid thump of a boot connecting with flesh, sounded just beyond the doorway. Castiel tilted his head, waited.

Another kick, another sharp yell. A bound and gagged man toppled through the doorway to sprawl across the hardwood floor. 

Castiel picked up his mug and held it in both hands, taking a careful sip as Cain strode in behind the man. 

“Is this the one?” His tone was calm and even, betraying nothing of the darkness in his eyes except to Castiel—he knew where to look.

The man’s face was bloodied and swollen, mouth stuffed with what looked like a dirty dishrag. Possibly swiped from the bar where Castiel suspected Cain grabbed him. His hands were tied tight behind his back, and while Cain had left his feet free, it made little difference—the man was hardly moving now, chest heaving in a desperate attempt to get enough air, brown eyes rolled partially back in his head. 

“Turn him over?” Castiel requested.

Cain planted a heel on the man’s hip and rolled him. There was a gold ring with a small square of obsidian on his middle finger, still flecked with blood from where it had broken through the flesh beneath Castiel’s right eye. 

“That’s him,” Castiel said softly, and took another sip of his tea.

It had been a simple bar fight, one Castiel hadn’t started and tried to avoid. He’d bumped the man on his way out, barely had time to recognize him as one of the regulars before a fist connected with his eye. It had been swollen shut by the time he came home, bruised a deep purple and bleeding from where the stone sliced into him. 

Cain had taken one look and gone cold and quiet. He’d kissed the bruise, just a feather-light brush. Washed away the blood and carefully held a bag of wrapped ice against it, pressing kisses and praise into Castiel’s hair when he’d done nothing more than wince. 

He’d been gone the next morning. 

Now, here was the man, bruised and bloodied and trussed up—the perfect gift.

The man whimpered, lashing out weakly with one leg, and Cain tipped his head to glare at him. Castiel smiled, taking another sip of his tea.

“We’ll have to move again,” he murmured as he watched Cain stride across the room to take his hunting knife from the mantle.

The blade glinted in the firelight. A muffled series of “no” and “please” began to suffocate within the gag, the man’s shoulders tensing as he struggled against his bonds. 

“Somewhere further from town,” Cain agreed. He stepped up to Castiel’s chair and cupped the younger man’s cheek with his free hand. His thumb brushed delicately over a cheekbone, just barely grazing the edge of the bruising—Castiel gave a soft sigh as he leaned into the attention.

The older man bent to press a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, lips gentle, beard soft against Castiel’s skin. His hand clenched around the hilt of the blade as he hissed, “Somewhere no one can touch you.”

His fingers trailed over Castiel’s jaw as he stepped back, holding eye contact until the moment he knelt beside the man. He was struggling in earnest now, wrists bleeding where he’d rubbed them raw against the rope. Cain shoved him over onto his back, chuckling softly when the man choked out a cry as his hands were crushed. 

He glanced up as he lifted the blade. Castiel hummed his approval, holding Cain’s gaze over the rim of his mug. 

The man let out a desperate shout. His eyes were wide, fixed on the blade. Castiel sucked in a sharp breath. He set his mug down beside the lamp and smoothed his palms over his thighs. 

He bit his lower lip when the man screamed, then nodded to Cain.

The blade plunged through his heart. The scream turned to a wet gurgle, then to silence.

A log cracked and slid further into the fire, tossing sparks and a mean little hiss into the air. The light caught in Cain’s dark eyes, barely visible beneath the length of his silver hair. 

“Cain,” Castiel breathed—demanded. 

Slowly, Cain uncurled his fingers from the hilt of the blade. His eyes narrowed when Castiel slid down in his seat, throwing his legs open wide.

“No one,” Cain snarled, rising smoothly to his feet. “No one can touch you.”

Slotting himself between Castiel’s thighs, Cain cupped the younger man’s face and kissed his forehead, his lips. Castiel parted for him, closed his eyes and let Cain tilt his head until they fit just right. 

“No one but you,” Castiel swore softly when Cain pulled back. 

He leaned up to press a kiss to Cain’s throat, smiling at the softness of the beard against his skin. 

When Castiel sat back, Cain was a wild thing above him—hair tangled, teeth bared in a snarl, yet his hands were gentle as they unbuttoned Castiel’s plaid shirt and smoothed it from his shoulders. Careful fingertips slid along his flat, soft stomach, unbuttoned his fly and tugged off jeans and boxers together. He traced the jut of Castiel’s hip bones, dipped in to tease along sensitive inner thighs before kneeling and lifting one of the younger man’s feet up onto his thigh.

Tugging off the black sock, Cain bent to press a kiss to the ball of Castiel’s foot. He traced his tongue up, swirling around the big toe, then sucking it into his mouth when Castiel moaned. He rubbed a hand along Castiel’s shin, hollowed his cheeks like he was sucking cock. The younger man panted, head falling back and fingers digging into the arms of the chair to keep himself from moving.

Cain lifted his head. Castiel let out a soft whine at the loss of attention, but Cain merely grinned and gently set his foot down. 

“We can’t ignore the other one,” he said as he lifted the right foot and tugged off its sock.

Cain took several toes into his mouth this time. He sucked and lashed at them with his tongue, digging his thumbs into the arch of Castiel’s foot at the same time. The younger man shook, bones aching as he gripped the chair all the harder. He bit his lip against the plea that wanted to escape, but didn’t stop himself from trying to spread his legs wider. 

Sitting back, Cain wrapped both hands around Castiel’s ankle and stroked the smooth skin there. He smiled when Castiel groaned, but made no move to touch himself. 

“You’re beautiful when you restrain yourself,” Cain murmured. 

Surging to his feet, he shoved his hands under Castiel’s ass and hauled him up out of the chair. The younger man threw his arms around Cain’s neck and legs around his waist, breath coming in quick, sharp pants at the show of strength. 

The blade was still buried in the body. Cain set Castiel down and urged him to lay on his back, kneeling beside him as he reached over to yank the blade out and toss it aside. Blood gushed up from the wound, spilling out onto the floor. Cain swiped his hand through it until it was coated entirely in red. 

It was his ritual for the last seven years. Whatever hurt Castiel, it became a part of him.

Castiel’s breathing was harsh, his chest heaving as Cain pressed his hand over Castiel’s heart and drew it down slowly, painting thick smears of red into the younger man’s flesh. His hips bucked, hard cock twitching against his belly, but Cain ignored it in favor of dipping both hands into the blood this time. He ran them over Castiel’s sides and to his hips, leaving two near-perfect handprints smeared only by the soft swipe of his thumbs over hipbones. 

“Please,” Castiel panted. He hiked his legs up around Cain’s shoulders, hooked his ankles behind his neck and tugged. 

“Shhh.” Cain dipped his hands a third time before running them along Castiel’s inner thighs. “Sh, my angel, I’ll take care of you.”

The older man bypassed Castiel’s cock, reached further back to circle blood-slick fingers around his hole. Castiel gasped, tightened his legs around Cain’s neck and used the leverage to arch his hips, grinding against thick fingers until one finally sank into him. 

“More,” Castiel growled, throwing his head back when Cain smoothed his fingertip over his prostate. 

Cain only smiled and shushed him.

With a low growl, Castiel dropped his legs and latched onto Cain’s arms, flipping them, so that he was straddling Cain’s waist. The older man let out a grunt as his back struck the hard floor. His hair fell into the spreading pool of blood, soaking up the color. Castiel froze, watched with wide eyes at the stain spreading through familiar silver. 

“Angel?” Cain tugged his arm from under Castiel and cupped his face with his clean hand. “What is it?”

Slowly, Castiel reached out and drew his hand through the blood. He stroked it into Cain’s hair, his forehead, his beard. Drew a single slick finger over his lips, groaning when Cain sucked it into his mouth to lick it clean. 

“He should be a part of you, too,” Castiel murmured. 

Cain snarled, grasped Castiel’s hips and hauled him up, barely giving the younger man enough time to withdraw his finger and collect a new handful of blood to slick Cain’s cock. 

It was only in these moments that Cain was never gentle, never giving Castiel time to adjust as he forced himself inside. Castiel craved it—the sharp spear of pain that faded into a dull, throbbing ache, the thick, hot pressure spreading him wide. Cain rolled them and held Castiel down by the hips, each sharp crack of skin on skin making the younger man grunt. 

He wrapped his arms around Cain’s neck—held eye contact, refused to break it even when he felt his orgasm building in his gut.

“Like this,” Cain growled. “Just like this.”

Castiel nodded, threaded his hands into Cain’s hair to keep from touching himself. He didn’t need it—not with the slide of Cain’s belly over his cock, with every thrust striking his prostate as Cain tilted his hips just right.  

Not when Cain shoved three bloody fingers into his mouth, far enough that Castiel choked and came with a mangled cry. 

Once Castiel was limp and sated, Cain planted a hand beside his head and began to thrust in quick, shallow strokes. Castiel suckled at Cain’s fingers and clenched around him, watched through half-lidded eyes as Cain tossed his head back and bared his teeth. Warmth flooded Castiel’s insides as Cain shuddered through it, near silent but for a hiss that slipped through his teeth.

He collapsed beside Castiel afterward. He kissed the younger man, tucked him in against his chest and stroked his hair. Castiel laughed softly when that just smeared the blood around. 

“I need a shower,” Castiel said. He tilted his head up to kiss Cain’s throat, smiling at the soft tickle of the beard against his face.

“Mm. How about a bath? But—” Cain lifted his head, twisting to eye the corpse behind them. “—not until we get rid of the evidence. No sense in having to bathe a second time.”

“Yes. Good.” Castiel rolled back enough to get his hands in Cain’s coat, shoving at it eagerly. “I want you out of these, anyway.”

Cain smiled, sitting up to let Castiel shove off his coat and start working at the buttons of his shirt. He caught the younger man’s face in both hands when it was gone, brushing a thumb over his lips.

“I love you, angel,” he murmured. 

Castiel’s reply was muffled by the crush of another kiss.

~

END

 


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